


Deepest Regards

by dreamcager



Series: Bliss, Joy, and Happiness [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Biblical References, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Letters, Literary References, Love Confessions, Minor Character Death, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcager/pseuds/dreamcager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmund Hewlett and Anna Strong both left Setauket, and both went opposite directions.  With only the knowledge that Edmund's family home is in Edinburgh, Scotland Anna writes him letters to pass the time, never once believing he could actually be receiving them.  But what does it matter, when he couldn't possibly send replies back anyway? (Spoilers up to S3Ep4) Prequel to True Happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dearest Edmund

**Author's Note:**

> The delightful [aion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aion/profile) has made [a lovely cover](http://i740.photobucket.com/albums/xx50/Dreamcager/Deepest%20Regards_zpsdvghsk7c.png) for this fic. It's beautiful and I couldn't be more delighted! <3
> 
> This is also the prequel to my story entitled [True Happiness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6917311/chapters/15780106).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all told through the letters Anna sends Edmund after she's left Setauket for good.

Dear Edmund,

I know not what temperament this letter will find you in. Indeed, I have no faith this note will ever reach your hands. I have no reliable means of address, no sure hands to pass this on to you. Perhaps only madness urges me to pen this letter.

The reason I write to you, I confess, even I do not know. I don’t know. I

I apologize. I have yet to begin and yet I’ve already lost myself.

I suppose all I have left to say is that I wish you well. I pray for your health and a safe journey, wherever your feet may take you. Be well, Edmund, and I pray for you to find happiness. True happiness. I fear I do not have any to send along with this note so it must come from God himself if it is to come at all.

Regards,  
Anna

 

 

Dear Edmund,

You never wrote back. Or perhaps you did and the letter fell by the wayside. As it is, it won’t find me here. I am no longer in Setauket. I am nowhere.

I could not tell you where I am now. If I were to say then my own safety and that of countless others would be compromised. I admit this alone does not stay my hand. There is fear for your safety as well. It is best you don’t know.

There are many things I wish to tell you. Many things I fear I cannot tell you. Things I fear to tell you for even my own sake.

Are you well? Are you home? True home? Sometimes, usually during the lonely nights, I cannot help but think of what

Apologies. These are not proper thoughts for a married woman to hold for a bachelor. I

I have written too much. If I wasn’t certain you never actually received my last letter then assuredly I would not dare send this.

Perhaps this note actually finds itself in the hand of some person entirely unrelated to us both. I am sure to sound like a mad fool.

Regards,  
Anna

 

 

 

Dear Edmund,

Do you miss home? Not your home I mean, but Setauket. Is there anything there that calls out to your idle thoughts and to your dreams?

I had nothing left in that town. So much was lost after Selah was taken prisoner. You saw to it yourself, as according to the law of the King. There was nothing for me after Selah returned, but I stayed on. I jumped from that boat and returned to the town where there was nothing for me. Or so I thought. You may be wondering why I ever jumped then, but I am certain you know without me laying it out for you.

Again, I ask if there is anything that beckons your mind back to Setauket? Mine only returns there in my worst of nightmares. It seems whatever happy memories I held there, they did not in turn hold themselves in me.

I am certain you are bored by my lack of classical allegory. I fear I shall never be as eloquent in that art as you ever were. Maybe we were, in fact, ill-suited after all. Our upbringing were too far separated, further even than the stars we once spied through your telescope.

I hope the nights are clear where you are. May God bless you with the chance to seek out your dreams that you once had to push away for the greater good. For how much greater a good could it have been for it to leave you as it did on that day?

Regards,  
Anna

 

 

 

Dear Edmund,

I looked up at the starry sky last night and thought of you yesterday.

This is a waste of paper, ink, and time; supplies that are desperately needed elsewhere. However, I cannot stay my hand as I write this. Edmund, I

You won’t get this so why do I hesitate? If I write it down will it make it that much harder, or ease this burden of pain and guilt I bear?

Regards,  
Anna

 

 

 

Dearest Edmund,

I miss you. I miss your words to me. The kindness in them. The soft tone of your voice. I miss your smile, the one you never held back from me. It would make your eyes twinkle like those stars you loved so much. Did you know you have beautiful eyes, dear Edmund? They truly are the most passionate, penetrating eyes that I have ever seen and yet so gentle.

I have no talent for poetry so why do I dare try it here? Of course. Because you will never see this correspondence no matter what I write. I could list the hundreds of secrets I’ve kept from you, from Setauket, from everyone I have ever known and no one would know, because this letter will just wind up wherever all the others have. Lost, possibly dropped overboard the shipping boat to England, maybe even just into the wrong post after they arrived to the island. Whatever the case, it does not matter. It does not. Not even the tiniest bit.

I’m still praying for your health and happiness. I have my health, in case you spare me some wondering despite how I have wronged you. I cannot honestly say that happiness has managed to find its way to me, but I have never been blessed in that way. Not in years.

Deepest regards,  
Anna

 

 

 

Dearest Edmund,

Already it grows cold again. Can you believe it’s been nearly a year since we last saw one another? I still think of that day, every day. We were to be married. I can still picture your face. That happy smile you held for me, all the way until Richard Woodhull ruined everything.

No, not everything. In the end, you still managed to stay safe. I accused you, lied in front of the whole town, destroyed your honor. But you were safe. I sent you away in shame so that you might live to find true happiness. Happiness! The one thing that you always seemed to hold in your heart for me, but that which I could never return to you.

I do hope you are taking care of yourself. Your foot must be acting up with the chill settling in. Am I right that it is colder there in Scotland than it is here in the Americas? Even in the heat of summer, I confess I always feel cold.

I miss you, Edmund.

For all the things I cannot say, I can at least give you my deepest regards,  
Anna

 

 

 

Dearest Edmund,

How long ago was my last letter? It was just before winter and now spring has already sprung. Forgive me for writing to you so late. I was

I am no longer where I once was, when I first begun this correspondence. If you must know I am now in New Jersey and plan to be for the foreseeable future. By way of New Bridge.

I’ve enclosed a flower I pressed, just something wild from the local area. I do hope you like it. I used a much-loved print of The Iliad for the pressing. I thought perhaps our mutual friend Homer could impart something more that I could not.

As always, with deepest regards,  
Anna

 

 

 

Dearest Edmund,

I am a fool. I am the most damned fool upon this earth and I write this with little regard for a God who seems to have so little regard for me! Is there no pity in this world? No true justice?

Selah is dead. I just got the news three days ago and have still not yet fully comprehended it. My hope in writing this will aid in giving some sense to the madness. Why is it mad, you ask, to be told my husband the rebel has died? Because his death was confirmed to be over a year ago. In fact, it happened but three days after

What is done is done. We cannot change what is in the past but I am convinced with this news that I am truly cursed to live out my days in a wretched existence. I am certain you are now laughing at all of this. My pain and my sorrow. To think you almost allowed yourself to be settled with a woman like me. An adulterous with a curse upon her head; a mark everyone but she herself can see and those blinded by their own wish to see otherwise.

You escaped this fate, Edmund. Again, I implore you, find your own happiness! Whatever concerns you may have once held for me, please, put them out of your mind and continue your life as if you never knew me. I do not deserve even your thoughts, idle or otherwise.

Anna

 

 

 

Dearest Edmund,

I planned never to write you again after that last letter but I am afraid my self-restraint is all but gone. After all the things I have seen and done, any bit that I’m proud of or hold guilt for, I

I love you, Edmund. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I failed you. I wanted to let you live your life in happiness and to go on without me. I hope you have managed that, and yet the selfish, most base part of my heart and soul beg that you have not. That you do still hold me in some regard, even if never in the same that you once did.

We were to be married once. Then there were still some lingering feelings that made me go into that marriage perhaps not as whole-hearted as you deserved. Lingering feelings for Abraham Woodhull as well as feelings of fear that no matter what I chose to do I would not be able to protect you from him. In his jealousy I imagined that he would find a way to kill you, outright or through some desperate means. So when you left there was, I confess, relief along with the sadness that filled my heart. You were going far away. Away from Abe’s reach, away from Simcoe who, would you believe, remained alive despite our well laid-out plans.

If only we had left for Scotland that very day I first suggested it and you accepted! We could have left all of this behind us and truly started anew, just like we dreamed. But I do not blame you, my love, for how things turned out. You were, as always, only doing what you thought was right by me in order to salvage some honor for my name. How I wish I could have been stronger, more insistent, or smart enough to discern what ought not be said to certain people who wished nothing but destruction upon our happiness.

Our happiness. To think, we may have actually been married and been together. Truly happy.

I am overcome, Edmund. The shaking of my hand cannot be stayed, nor my tears that fall and sully this note. With luck they will drown out the ink and make it unreadable to whomever finds it and laughs at our misfortune.

I should not write you again. That is, I will endeavor not to but I fear that is impossible. You are with absolute certainty the only light I have left in my heart. You once said I was a beacon and I kept you from running. Then I made you run. Well, now you are my beacon and it is only through my memories of you that I have the strength to draw breath. You are the stars in my night sky, my only constant in this world of chaos and war.

You owe me nothing and you have become my everything. I can think of no crueler revenge than this. If it gives you peace then so be it. I yield myself unto your ill will should you wish it upon me. I can deny you nothing, dearest Edmund.

With all the love in my heart,  
Anna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine this fic will have at least one more chapter... where Edmund actually replies! They are not typoes where the letters sometimes break off; Anna just stops her writing at times when she's close to admitting something that she's not yet ready to say or finds too difficult to write.


	2. My most darling Anna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmund responds, and a true correspondence is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to note that any letters sent across the Atlantic at this time took anywhere between three and four weeks to make land, plus another day or so to be transported to the receiver. Consider that as you see these two dummies in love flounder their way through feelings.

To Mrs. Anna Strong,

I sit at my desk back at home and as I pen this I cannot help but wonder if I am making a grave error in writing back at all. It would be unconscionably rude to never write back after receiving such an abundance of correspondence over the past year and some time, but I admit some of this hesitancy is not borne out of hurt.

I did not arrive back at my home in Edinburgh until just seven month prior to receiving your latest note. Several posts had already made their way to my desk but it was not until merely a fortnight ago that I finally took my penknife to the seals and read over them. A moment of weakness on my part, perhaps, and yet I cannot bring myself to regret that action. No, it is somewhat of a lie to say there is no regret, but I cannot say it is the strongest of feelings to grip me after reading your letters.

You repeatedly ask after and pray for my health. I can report that other than a recurring headache and bouts of melancholy I have been well. My physician has offered me several cures but none that have lasted longer than a week. I expect I shall be dealing with these complications for quite some time, but life is, nonetheless, livable. Politeness dictates that I ask after your health in return. Pray tell, how are you?

Now is the time I confess I also am at a loss on what to say. In your latest note you professed love for me, a sentiment I thought for these nigh two years past to be the furthest from your mind. How could a woman who led me so eagerly and blindly into a false hope for marital bliss so coldly toss me aside the moment her own deceit be brought to light? How could she, in front of the very town I had once promised to protect her from, which she showed so very little desire to return back to me? Have my memories been tainted in some way by a demon of jealousy and longing that my mind would plague me with lies instead of love? Or dare I not hope again as I once did, leaving my heart bare to be bled dry at the next slight of betrayal?

Surely you can understand my hesitation, Mrs. Strong. You cannot deny me this fear for my own heart. Once you receive this note it should be close to the two-year mark of that day. If you truly love me as you wrote so ardently then, pray tell, does it pain you to dwell upon the date as much as it pains me? Your previous letter indicates as much but I cannot imagine it, not after all these months and months of suffering your absence in my life.

I have half a mind to never send this letter myself, and just as much reason to believe it will never be placed in your hands knowing that you now reside in rebel-held territory. But send it I must. I am compelled to seal my own self-destruction and send it along, much like Samson who was unable to hold back against the trappings of Delilah.

Regards,  
Edmund Hewlett

 

  
Dearest Edmund,

To think I never expected to hear word from you again! And when I did I found in my heart a burst of joy followed swiftly by remorse. So I have become Delilah in your eyes when my only reasoning for lying as I did back on that day was to spare your life? Do not think I am unhurt by these words but I will accept them all the same. I certainly must look like nothing more than a traitor to you, and likely in more ways than one.

Still, I find my heart gladdened to see your signature at the bottom of that letter. Even if some of the words sting they were written by your hand and I am grateful for any little bit of yourself you may leave me. I expect it is all I shall ever receive from you again in this life.

I am actually writing this on the anniversary of that very day we both hold in our minds. I still have that dress I wore; it is the very dress I wore when I left Setauket for the first and last time in my life. On days when my fear overwhelms me I take it out and wear it like armor. It has seen me through the worst of times and has never given me cause to doubt it will not see me through more. I wear it today with the hope it fortifies my heart so that I might send on this letter to you. Even now it gives me the strength to write what I must next.

I do love you, Edmund. The words in my last letter were not written under duress or out of some wish to vex you. I love you. If I have lied in the past, if ever there was a lie on my lips, then let me at least claim that this one sentiment is true. I love you.

It is to your own discretion whether you reply to this letter. I will not force your hand in this matter or expect one out of courtesy. It is obvious you no longer hold me in the same light you once did, and I have no one to blame but myself. I did not leave you with an explanation of my behavior from that day for fear that you might hold back from returning to England, leaving you exposed to danger. That I could not abide, but I will take any punishment such actions have left in their wake. I remain a woman who owns nothing; not land or social standing, not even the love of any man I may hold or once held dear in my heart. As such, I hold no reason to garner your regards, real or pretend.

Do remain safe, beloved Edmund. I have no cure for headaches or melancholy to impart; just prayers for your continued health and happiness. You never did tell me if you had found your happiness back home, but a lack of response is telling enough. Either you have and did not wish to pain me by elaborating upon it, or else you have not and remain in the same wretched state in which I left you. Perhaps I have infected you with my curse and you are wasting away from a disease of unhappiness that cannot be mended, not even by time. If so, I apologize. Your smile, brilliant as it is, should never be absent from this world for long.

With all the love in my heart,  
Anna

 

  
Dear Anna,

Allow me first to apologize for the terrible insinuation I made upon stating I was Samson in this situation. You are, assuredly, no Delilah. I understand what you did was out of no ill-will towards myself and, indeed, was your only perceived method on how to protect me. For allowing you to think I would believe you to be suspect of character I find myself shamed. Please, do not dwell on my cold words inked on my last letter. I did not mean to cause you further pain.

Your words about your dress remind me much of that day, of all the little details I could never pry out of my memory. You looked so radiant from my place at the bottom of the stairwell, and when you took my arm I thought perhaps my heart might burst from joy. It was the same emotion that gripped me the day you accepted my proposal. Utter disbelief swallowed up in undeniable happiness.

Your repeated claims of love, I’m afraid to inform you, do vex me. Am I to follow this love down to hell itself, am I to dare a glance back, only to see the promise of love slip away from me forever? I made the mistake of considering myself a tragic hero already but, if I may be so bold, Orpheus does fit the occasion rather expertly. Please, spare me, oh God, these sentiments that threaten to chain me forever in the sorrow of what might have been!

As I read your words again that plead for my health and happiness I cannot help but wonder if you also pray for your own. Surely, Anna, you cannot expect life to carry you through so many hard trials as it has without granting you some reward for your perseverance. As it is, I do not believe you ever to have imparted a curse upon me except that which forbids me from ever thinking ill of yourself for more than a passing moment. That, even at times when I wished it so, I find I cannot do.

Regards,  
Edmund Hewlett

 

Dearest Edmund,

Why do we continue to torture ourselves like this? Why do we insist on speaking of the past, on times that were assuredly happier than our present, when it will only hurt us further? Tell me, should I never again mention my love for you? Should I stop writing altogether, as I knew I should back when I penned the very first letter I let ship overseas?

I cannot and will not stop writing to you, even against my better judgment. And all the same, I cannot and will not stop loving you. My heart quivers at the very thought of putting you out of my mind. If nothing on this earth can give me happiness then please, allow my soul to find solace in the wake of my memories of you, my beloved. I cannot give up your smile; it is engraved on my heart for eternity, for you gave it to me so freely even when I had nothing to give you in return.

If you truly cannot think unkindly of me then I am blessed with more than I deserve.

Here, I have another flower I pressed for you, this time between the pages of last year’s almanac. I confess, it is much less poetic than having the job handled by Homer but the owner of that book moved away some months ago and took his reading with him. Still, I hope you will find this token acceptable as there is little else beyond words that I can offer you.

With all the love that you can bear to accept,  
Anna

 

Dear Anna,

I had all but forgotten your mentioning of Homer, distraught as I was when I first read over your letters. I have read them again, slower and with greater scrutiny than before and I find myself in awe of your fortitude. How you did not lose hope but continued to write despite my seemingly cold indifference through those months, I cannot but imagine your struggles.

Before I forget, may I inquire as to whether you read the print of The Iliad while having it in your possession? This I merely ask out of pure curiosity.

If I may be frank, I admit I am gladdened to know you will be gracing my post with your continued correspondence. Much as I blathered on before while playing the martyr, I have been increasingly eager to check the post, though I know most days I will be disappointed. It is quite a journey for a person to travel from one continent to another, and just as long for any letter to take that same route. If only there were a way to bridge that distance. Alas, my home is here now, back in Scotland where I am needed to tend to my father’s estate and keep watch over my dear mother’s health.

I thank you for the flowers. That such frail things have managed to retain such brilliance and beauty despite the hardships of their long journey, I cannot help but picture you, my dear. You, who seemed evergreen no matter what the circumstances you found yourself in. Like Sirius in the night sky, the most illuminating of all the stars.

Apologies. My pen got away from me. Surely such words are too forward. As kind as my thought are towards you, I find that extending anything more could only be presumptuous of me. Presumption, my dear, is not a luxury I find myself willing to indulge.

With deepest regards,  
Edmund

 

Dearest Edmund,

I will begin by addressing your inquiry first, so I do not forget in turn. Yes, I did trawl through that heavy book though I confess the war scenes all but left me cross-eyed. I skimmed it. But I did find some empathy in the character of Briseis, stripped as she was of home, husband, family, and status. Helen I also sympathized with, as she did not so much as want war but fell victim to the tides that pulled her to and fro, tied to the side of her lover without given any real chance to return or put an end to the meaninglessness of battle. Perhaps I retained more than I first believed.

Now, for the rest of it, I dare ask why you should see declaiming my supposed brilliance as forward? Have I not already in several notes to you now expressed my own adoration? How much more must I write the words “I love you” until you are satisfied that it is truth? I feel I am shouting at a brick wall that does not so much as sway in my presence!

I suppose it is not my place to ask anything more from you. I said I would be content just to know you are well and happy but it seems that is not enough, sinful woman that I am. For it is a sin to covet that which one does not have nor deserves. If I were to have but one more day spent at your side, perhaps my heart could be assuaged and I could finally find the peace to live without these greedy thoughts that plague me.

But you are far away from me now. So far out of reach I could never hope to touch you save for gliding my fingertips along the ink dried to the paper of your correspondence. I had no memento to cling to after I fled Setauket, not even the tiniest thing to claim a hold on you. Though perhaps that is fitting, as I never deserved your friendship so should I likewise never deserve anything more.

I have lost myself again. Forgive me, Edmund.

With all the love I have left in me to give,  
Anna

 

Dearest Anna,

Your attachment to Briseis and Helen are to be expected and perish the thought should you believe me to think lesser of you for finding a kinship in their stories. Scholars are often quick to dismiss the two ladies for holding the supposed weaknesses of femininity yet I concur with your analysis; they were mere victims of circumstance much as you were. The two of them stayed strong in their own ways, much as you have through your own tribulations and that is something to be admired.

And I do admire you so, my dear. It is you who need to forgive me the error of my words. I thought I might guard my heart against further pain if I kept you at arms length, as it were. Truly, I wish nothing more than to proclaim my own desire to have you again at my side, for I do love you, Anna. I love you just as much as I did that day I asked for your hand, and that day I walked you to the middle of the parlor in Whitehall. There has never been a loss of love in my heart for you, only a dampening of spirits in regard to that love that I thought so utterly one-sided.

However, your words are true. We are much separated by space and time. That is not so easily amended. I cannot promise you my presence upon you reading this note. There is more to it to send a person overseas, much more planning and money involved. Be that as it may, I do have a business acquaintance I plan to meet in New York by way of Manhattan. The earliest I could visit would be in three months time. I don’t suppose, should you find your way into that area, that perhaps we might find a way to see one another again. If only for a short time.

Please do reply swiftly, so that I might make arrangements to stay a few days longer than my business meeting intends should you feel amenable to the idea. I look forward to hearing from you again, my dear.

With greatest affection and deepest regards,  
Edmund

 

My beloved Edmund,

With haste I write this letter to say yes, yes, I would meet you should you land back on American soil. I may have some trouble getting through the checkpoints of York City but I will do whatever necessary to make arrangements.

I cannot express the happiness I felt to read the words you wrote me last. That you still hold me in your heart is more than I ever imagined possible, and yet I hoped! I see now that I was clinging to that hope all along. It may have been the only thing keeping me alive this whole time we have been separated, to think that I might once again see your face. To think that your smile might once again be mine. And as I write that I see that it is indeed presumptuous of me to think of any part of you as mine, and yet I cannot help myself. I want all of your smiles to be for myself. I never renounced that greedy part of me nor will I ever!

Upon receiving your note I expect it has been nearly a month or more since you committed it to paper, which means I still have nearly two more months to wait. What is two months compared to over two years of absence? And yet I wish you were arriving sooner. Please do not keep me waiting any longer, beloved, or I fear I might attempt to swim the Atlantic in just my underthings if only for a chance to meet with you again. Do not tempt me.

I fear if I put off sending this letter it may miss you, so I go now to place it in the hands of the postman. Have a safe journey and I will greet you in person the moment I know you are returned.

All my love,  
Anna

 

My most darling Anna,

I write you now from my small cabin aboard the good ship Valkyrie en route to the New York colony. I apologize for the shaking of my hand. I do not possess the same stomach for the sea as I do upon solid ground but make no mistake, every moment I spend on this journey I see as a necessary trial to bringing you into my arms. I have long awaited our reunion much as you have, my dear, and I fully intend to see it through.

I brought your latest letter along with me. Yes, I received it in well enough time before embarking on this journey. I read it nearly every day, exulting in the joy your words bring me.  Your joke of swimming the Atlantic always brings a laugh to my bosom but I hardly doubt your determination.  Please, in the name of propriety, do not undertake this endeavor without at least allowing me to make land first!

I have never forgotten your face, Anna, but I confess my memory grows hazy. The moment I see you I fully intend to commit your features to memory yet again and hopefully they will stay intact with continued familiarity.

Enclosed is the name and address of my lodgings during my stay in York City, and I have arranged for you to have your own private quarters as well. It is with deep regret I must inform you that my business in that bustling port has been canceled but I am certain we will find a way to occupy our time together, however long that may be. Were I to have it my way I would never let you out of my sight again for as long as the good Lord allows me to live.

My candle is burning low and so I shall let sleep draw me ever swifter to your side. Make no mistake, this note will go directly into the post once we’ve made land. I will not dally one moment. We have both waited long enough.

And my love to you,  
Edmund

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! ~~I think I may write a companion story that's in actual prose that picks off where this one ends. STILL UNDECIDED because I'm terrible at keeping up with projects. orz But wish me luck if I do manage to get around to it. I'd really like to just give Annlett a happy ending!~~
> 
>  **EDIT:** OKAY SO I STARTED ON THAT COMPANION STORY, it's within the same collection and has been entitled "True Happiness" so if you enjoyed this fic then I strongly encourage you to make your way to that one and give it a try!


End file.
